


the pills (they gotta go)

by searchingforstars



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medication, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 21:42:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21204545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingforstars/pseuds/searchingforstars
Summary: “Tony. What are these?”Tony glances up. Sees the packs of pills clenched in Peter’s fist. He’s sure some of them must be dust judging by the force that Peter is holding them with.“My pills?”“Why are they sitting at the back of the pantry?” Peter asks, voice dangerously low.---or, Tony decides taking his medication is optional. Peter strongly disagrees.





	the pills (they gotta go)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 한국어 available: [the pills (they gotta go)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21757117) by [everyoneisgay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyoneisgay/pseuds/everyoneisgay)

The wooden floorboards are cool underfoot as Peter pads his way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

There’s a crisp chill in the air of the room, and he huddles further into his worn pyjama shirt, wishing that he had thought to retrieve his hoodie from where it’s slung over the back of his desk chair before he ventured out of his room.

He glances around with a furrowed brow for the source of the cold permeating the room, because as bitter as autumn mornings can be right by the lake, Tony’s central heating has always been second to none. It takes Peter all of about two seconds to identify the culprit - an open window. Or more specifically, the open window directly above the kitchen sink that Morgan had been leaning out of to feed Gerald her leftover carrots after dinner last night. They’re all hopeless without Pepper here to keep the house under control. He crosses the kitchen to pull it closed quickly.

When he glances out the now-closed window, he’s reminded of how much he loves the lake house at this time of the morning. He can see a layer of mist across the top of the glassy-still lake, the sun only just beginning to rise over it. If he breathes in deep enough he can smell the pine from outside, maybe the remnants of the Italian herbs that Tony had put into their pasta sauce last night. The birds are only just beginning to chirp, and apart from the occasional creak of the house, the floorboards from underneath Peter, there’s nothing.

Morgan isn’t even up yet. Usually, on a Saturday she’s already up and curled in front of the TV, waiting patiently for the moment when the clock ticks over to seven o’clock and an episode of Authur begins on PBS Kids. No one has ever told her that she can just watch the cartoon whenever she wants if she asks FRIDAY to stream it for her on Tony’s tablet. For Pepper and Tony it’s because they would rather her play outside, but for Peter it’s more that whenever he sits down with her on a Saturday morning and she curls into his side, still half-asleep, it reminds him of doing the same thing with Uncle Ben, indulging in Ben 10 and The Magic School Bus. 

But on this particular Saturday, Morgan is still tucked up in bed after she insisted on a later bedtime last night so she could finish watching the second Harry Potter film with Peter and a rather reluctant Tony. Once again, they’re both hopeless without Pepper here, so they had given in to her pleading brown eyes and let her stay curled in Tony’s lap.

No Saturday morning cartoons for Peter then.

He busies himself with pulling tea bags from the pantry instead. Always a ginger tea for Tony which he begrudgingly accepts. He’s on a caffeine ban for the foreseeable future while they try to get his heart back to a semi-normal functioning condition.

Normally Peter might reach for the green tea bags for himself, something Pepper got him onto when he needs a bit of a caffeine pick-me-up in the mornings but he’s only just feeling the final remnants of adrenaline, still lurking in his veins from the nightmare that jerked him awake, beginning to fade, so he opts for a ginger instead. Tony will be pleased that someone else is joining him in his caffeine-free club this morning.

He boils the water, reaching up to retrieve two mugs from the overhead cabinet and pours the boiling water into both. He sinks down at one of the stools at the island bench once he's dipped the teabags in, wrapping his palms around his own streaming mug, letting the warmth spread up his goose-bump ridden arms and through his body. 

This morning routine isn’t uncommon for Peter. He gets up first, usually rudely awakened by a nightmare and makes his way downstairs. He’ll brew them both a hot drink in the colder months, and sit down to drink his own while he leaves Tony’s tea on the counter to steep until it’s stronger the way he likes it. The man is never far behind him, usually wandering in at just past seven o’clock, bleary-eyed and mildly grouchy until he’s had a bit longer to fully wake up. So Peter waits.

Sure enough, only a few minutes later, Tony shuffles into the room, a yawn on his lips.

“Mornin’, Pete,” he greets, ruffling Peter’s hair as he passes before lowering himself onto the stool next to him. “Mmm, you made tea. Ginger, my _ favourite_,” he gripes, sarcasm evident in his tone but Peter just nudges his side with his elbow playfully.

“Be grateful, you rude old man.” 

Tony scoffs out a chuckle, reaches out to pull the teabag from his mug and take a sip, despite his half-hearted complaints. Peter knows he appreciates it, really. “It’s barely gone seven, and I’m already a rude old man? What forced you out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, huh?”

Peter just hums slightly in response, taking a sip of his own drink. The room still has a certain iciness to it, and he’s grateful for the way the tea warms his insides and Tony’s shoulder against his own, radiating the body heat of someone who has clearly just rolled out of bed. 

“How’d you sleep?” he asks idly after a minute. Tony shrugs. 

“Fine. No nightmares. Morgan crawled in with me at about two though. I don’t think that giant ass snake in the magic movie you wanted to watch last night was such a good idea,” he admits. 

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Nah, my fault. I let her stay up. I’m too soft when Pepper isn’t here,” Tony says, “what about you, kiddo?”

Tony knows the answer already. It’s only ever the mornings that Peter has nightmares that he can’t stand to be in bed, and he ends up down here far earlier than everyone else. Those mornings tend to make up the majority and have done since the reversing of the snap. Tony waits for Peter to admit it anyway, to see whether he wants to talk about it. They never pressure each other. It all comes out one way or another. 

He’s considering whether he evens wants to bother bringing up the nightmare to Tony - it’s pointless, the majority of the time they centre around Tony dying in the middle of the battle-torn, decimated grounds of the compound, the fading heart-beat and eventually, the sound of his heart-stopping altogether echoing in Peter’s ears as he wakes up. As soon as he can lay his eyes on Tony, alive and breathing, mostly in one piece - save for the arm - the knot in his chest loosens, every time without fail.

Before he’s decided whether divulging is worth it, he picks up the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps hitting the floorboards above them, Morgan rustling around. They both know that she’ll be racing down the stairs any minute now to join them in the kitchen. Morgan likes to be where everyone else is, never wanting to be left out of anything.

Abandoning their train of conversation, Peter jumps up off his stool to circle around the kitchen bench. He pulls open the drawer next to the fridge. What had once simply been a junk-drawer has become Tony’s medicine drawer, full of various packs of medicines and brightly coloured pills.

The snap almost tore Tony's body apart. After years of putting his body and health on the line as Iron Man, he has never been the picture of perfect health and especially not now. He’s lucky to be _ alive_, even if it means for now, every morning and evening he has to down a cocktail of atrial fibrillation pills, anticonvulsants for his nerve damage and various other pills prescribed by Bruce and his team to try and keep it that way.

Peter digs around to find Saturday morning’s blister pack and pulls it out, pushing it across the bench towards where Tony is still sitting. He eyes the pack warily, but Peter pushes it closer, insistently. 

“Here. I know you don’t like taking them when Morgan’s around,” Peter says. He’s both observant and very, very correct. Tony has never dealt well with letting her see any of his rawest vulnerabilities. Morgan is like any little girl. She thinks her dad’s invincible, the strongest person in the whole wide world and he can’t bear to burst that particular bubble just yet.

Before Tony can reply, both of their heads turn at the same time to the sight of Morgan, as expected, rushing down the stairs, her current favourite stuffed animal, a crocodile Pepper brought back from a business trip to Australia, tucked securely under her arm. She beelines for Tony, bumping unto his leg and hugging it tightly where he’s still sitting up on the stool. He automatically reaches a hand out to hide the pack of pills underneath the palm of his prosthetic hand before reaching down with his real one to brush Morgan’s messy bed-head hair out of her eyes. 

“Morning, you sleepy little bug. Were you tired after our big night last night?” She nods against his leg. 

She glances up at him. “Mhmm, and I was scared too,” she admits, before glancing up at Tony, her eyes shining. “I didn’t like the big snake. He was a big _ reptile_,” she says, emphasising the word reptile. She learnt it at school last week when she took her stuffed crocodile in for show and tell and ever since then she’s been eager to show Peter and Tony that she knows how to use it in a sentence. “But I think Lucky Charms might make me feel better.”

“Would they now?”

Morgan nods seriously. Peter grins around the rim of his mug as he finishes the last of his tea. 

“One bowl of Lucky Charms coming right up then, Mo,” he promises, and Morgan immediately lets go of Tony’s leg to cross the kitchen and wait by Peter for her breakfast. 

Peter’s too busy fetching Morgan’s cereal down from the highest point of the pantry for her (they had to resort to storing her sugary weekend-treat cereal up there after she started sneaking down after bedtime to eat it) to notice the way that Tony shoves the pills into the pocket of his sweatpants. 

He doesn't take a single one. 

* * *

Turns out the Lucky Charms were probably a mistake. Peter is used to Morgan being a ball of energy no matter the situation, but it only takes him until lunchtime to whole-heartedly regret pouring her bowl with a very heavy hand. 

Hours later and by the time the three of them have finished dinner, he’s thoroughly _ exhausted_, slumped back at the kitchen island, his head propped up in his palm.

Hours of knights and dragons in Morgan’s tent, which is frankly quite claustrophobic for a fully-grown teenager, will do that to someone, he supposes. Not to mention the time spent helping Morgan muck out Gerald’s little shed (which meant doing all the work while Morgan stood off to the side and fed the alpaca hay), and taking her for a bike ride through the forest clearing path a few minutes from the house so she can show Peter exactly how fantastic she is at riding the brand new bright blue bike that she got for her birthday a few weeks ago.

Thankfully, Morgan seems to be knocked out as well. She’s lying on her stomach in the middle of the kitchen floor, not willing to be anywhere where Peter and Tony _ aren’t_, her ‘999 Amazing Animal Facts’ book spread open in front of her. 

“Did you know that a crocodile can’t poke its tongue out?” she asks. Both Tony and Peter hum in dissent. 

“No, I didn’t. That’s cool, huh?”

“Yeah, super cool,” Peter nods. Morgan looks pleased that they’ve agreed, and goes back to skimming through the book carefully.

Peter lets his eyes slip shut slightly, the sound of water lapping at the edge of the sink as Tony does the dishes, the man humming softly under his breath and the rhythm of Morgan’s feet as she taps them against the floor absentmindedly lulling him into a relaxed state. 

“Guess what?” Morgan pipes up a minute later. Peter blinks a few times, focuses his attention on where she’s still lying on the floor. 

“What?” 

“Sharks are the only fishies that can blink with both eyes. Do you think the rest of them just wink all the time?” Morgan scrunches her face up, attempting to wink until she finally gets it. “Like this!” she proclaims proudly. 

Tony snorts. “Yeah, you’re right. I bet they all look exactly like that.” He places the last dish on the drying rack and wipes his hands on the tea-towel haphazardly thrown over his shoulder before he steps over to where Morgan is lying and scoops her up off the floor. 

“You wanna know my fun fact? _ Someone _ needs to go put their pyjamas on, brush their pearly whites and get into bed like a good girl. Any idea who that could be?”

Morgan pouts. “_Daddy_, that’s not fun.” 

“Mmm, yeah it is.” Tony turns for backup. “Pete, can you think of anyone who might be due for bedtime?”

Peter pretends to think for a second, running a finger across his chin. “Maybe someone with a name beginning with an M, I reckon? She probably knows lots of cool stuff about animals as well,” he chimes in. Tony nods in agreement.

“What do you think, Morgan? Have you seen anyone like that running around here?” He pulls his face further away from hers and pretends to study it. “Hold on a second,” he says, breaking out in an over-dramatic mock gasp that has Morgan in fits of giggles, “I think it’s _ you_.”

He sets her back down onto the ground, and her face is still lit up in a grin as she looks up at him. It’s so obvious to Peter that she absolutely adores her father, and it’s not hard to see why. Tony is _ fantastic _ with her. 

“Bedtime, okay? Go get ready for bed and brush your teeth, then I’ll be up to say goodnight,” Tony promises

“Can we finish reading the book from last night? Peter was reading one of my _ Rainbow Magic _ books to me. D’you know that we’re already up to Samira? She’s the superhero fairy. Petey said it’s his favourite so far of _ all _ the ones we’ve read,” she exclaims, “mine was Ashley because she was the _ dragon _ fairy and dragons are cool.” 

Tony nods solemnly in agreement. “Can’t argue with those sorts of facts. Right, skedaddle and I’ll be up soon to finish reading about the superhero fairy.”

She races up the stairs, feet thumping as she goes. Tony turns to Peter, eyebrows raised. “Superhero fairy, huh? I hope you’re not giving her any ideas. I want both of her feet planted firmly on the ground until she’s at least…” he pauses to think, before back-peddling, “actually no, there is no at least. Feet on the ground forever.”

“Not my choice. It was the next in the series, duh,” Peter defends himself with a shrug, as his stomach growls out a low rumble. A slight blush rises on his cheeks. 

Tony is all over it immediately. “What? My sensational stir-fry didn’t satisfy that bottomless pit you call a stomach?” Tony walks over to shoo him off his stool and towards the cupboard. “I think Pepper picked up a few things from that bakery on 32nd that she loves a couple of days ago, they should still be in the pantry if you’re still hungry. Just don’t let the little monster know, especially if there are any of those chocolate tarts left, she’s crazy about those.” 

That sounds like a particularly good idea to Peter.

He pulls open the cupboard and rummages around a bit, but can’t see the usual white box anywhere. He’s about to tell Tony that he must be imagining things because there is _ no _ sign of dessert anywhere in the pantry, which is upsetting because he’s just been promised dessert only to have it ripped away from him when he spots something that _ definitely _ shouldn’t be there.

A small stash of Tony’s packs of pills, at least five days worth, sitting at the back of the pantry. They’ve been cleverly shoved behind probably expired vitamins and Morgan’s old cold and flu medicine that’s gathering dust since she declared that she would never touch the grape flavour again once she saw an episode of Strawberry Shortcake. Strawberry became the superior flavour for everything in life from that point forward. 

“They should be around the middle maybe, the fourth shelf? Maybe behind those hideous health bars Pep calls food?” Tony offers absentmindedly, his eyes now glued to his phone. He’s oblivious to exactly why Peter has gone silent. 

“Tony-”

“Oh no, actually I stand corrected. They’re probably in the fridge. I think there was a cheesecake slice that needed to be kept cold or something.”

“_Tony_. What are these?”

Tony glances up. Sees the packs of pills clenched in Peter’s fist. He’s sure some of them must be dust judging by the force that Peter is holding them with.

“My pills?”

“Why are they sitting at the back of the pantry?” Peter asks, voice dangerously low. 

“Ran out of room in the drawer,” Tony says, but it sounds more like a question, uncertainty wavering around the edges of his tone. 

“I’m not stupid.”

“I just - uh, I needed to save some... oh, screw it,” Tony sighs. He knows there isn’t any point at all in trying to cover anything up. Peter isn’t Morgan. He can’t cover up his mistakes with little white lies to fool him. “You know they make me sleepy and nauseous, Pete. A day or two here and there without them won’t do any harm.”

“This isn’t just a _ day or two_,” Peter seethes, flinging the pills onto the bench between them both. They scatter slightly, and Tony was right. At least three of the packets have been crushed to dust. 

“Peter. I know what I’m doing, okay? I haven’t dropped dead yet, so it can’t be that-”

“_Don’t_. Don’t joke about that. Ever.”

Tony backtracks. “Sorry. Okay, that was stupid. I just meant that I’m on so many prescriptions at the moment, missing a few isn’t going to do any harm.”

“You’ve heard the doctors, you need to take these every day. Even _ Bruce _ said so, he helped develop these. I’m sure he knows what he’s talking about!”

“You can’t tell me you’ve gone through your life listening to everything a doctor has told you to do kid, I know you haven’t. This is just-”

“This is _ different_. You nearly died Tony, everyone keeps telling me it’s a goddamn miracle that you’re still breathing, how could you - why would you throw it all away? You _ know _ your heart isn’t as healthy as it should be, you can’t afford to just decide that you’re not really feeling like taking the tablets that are keeping you _ alive_,” Peter hisses as his face crumples slightly. 

Maybe Tony does need the damn medication after all because his heart stutters dangerously at this. He bows his head. He knows there’s a part of Peter that’s still scared that he won’t get better, that one day one of the many complications that seem to be ruling his life will take over and that will be it.

Tony isn’t going to let that happen though. Not on his watch. 

Before he can open his mouth to try and reassure him, Morgan is skipping back into the room, cosily tucked into her slightly oversized dinosaur pyjamas. “Daddy! My teeth are brushed and so, so clean! I used the special new toothpaste Mommy got me, but-”

“I’ll be up in a minute, bug. Can you go wait in bed for me?” Tony asks abruptly, eyes flitting apprehensively between Peter, Morgan in the doorway and the array of pills spread across the counter. Peter shakes his head forcefully. 

“No, you go. I’m just gonna, I - uh, get some air or whatever.”

He turns on his heel and stalks from the kitchen without giving Tony any time to form a response. Peter sucks in deep breaths to try and keep himself calm, to avoid freaking out Morgan. For the same purpose, he pulls the door shut softly behind him like a mature adult, rather than slamming it like he wants to.

His feet carry him down to the dock. A part of him resents it, because it’s his and Tony’s spot, both during the awful nights when their hearts are beating too fast, nightmares lurking in the dark corners of their minds, and the bright, carefree days when Morgan splashes in the shallows below them or throws fistfuls of oats into the water to try and attract the straggly goose that Tony _ hates _but Morgan adores. But another part of him is glad, too. It’s familiar.

He’s not sure he can handle the unknown right now. 

He sits. Focuses on keeping his breathing as steady as he possibly can, considering the sheer number of petrifying thoughts that are swirling around in his mind and fighting for his attention. Angry tears burn in his eyes, but he swipes them away. 

He doesn’t know what to think. All he knows is that he can’t lose Tony. He _ can’t_. Tony, who comes to his school prize-givings and who learnt the recipe for Beef Stroganoff when he told him that he missed when Ben used to cook it. Tony, who sits with him at night when he has nightmares, and will willingly sit through The Empire Strikes Back when it’s a particularly bad one. 

Tony, who very nearly fell victim to his own heroism.

Tony, who’s too stubborn for his own good.

Tony, who's one of the only people left in the world who loves him unconditionally. Peter couldn’t survive losing Tony. Especially not to something as _ stupid _ as him refusing to take his damn pills.

* * *

Peter loses track of how long he sits at the end of the dock, bare feet dangling over the edge and only just brushing against the frigid water of the lake. In the dark, he can't see the bottom like usual, instead, he just sees the reflection of the moon and the blackened sky. On any other night, it would probably be relaxing. Nice, even. 

Eventually, though, there are footsteps behind him. Peter doesn’t need to rely on his spider senses to tell him that the person approaching isn’t a threat. He knows the footsteps. It’s Tony, his footfall soft, slow and cautious.

The footsteps stop somewhere not far behind him. 

Peter carries on staring at the moon’s reflection in the lake in front of him. He doesn’t turn around.

“There’s a certain little girl upstairs right now who’s very upset that she hasn’t had her goodnight kiss from her favourite brother yet,” Tony begins casually, breaking the silence that Peter has built around himself.

“I’ll be inside soon.”

“Sure, okay,” Tony says neutrally. “Mind if I sit?”

“I said I needed some air.”

“Plenty out here for the both of us.” Tony moves to sit down next to Peter and groans under his breath as he does. Usually, Peter would tease him for it good-naturedly but tonight he sits in his silence. Tony fills it. “Plus, did you really think I was going to leave you to sit out here and freeze without a jumper?” He throws a hoodie into Peter’s lap, and Peter considers ignoring it out of spite but it’s _ cold_, and that would be mean. Tony doesn’t deserve that.

“Pete, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t want to upset you,” Tony tries. 

Peter doesn’t reply for a while, just carries on staring straight ahead. Tony isn’t even sure if he heard him until he speaks up in a small voice. “Why?” 

Tony deliberates for a second, but he knows Peter isn’t going to accept anything less than the truth.

“I hate the pills, Peter,” Tony says, honesty bleeding into his words. Something about it feels easier than it had done during their confrontation in the kitchen. Maybe it's that he and Peter are shoulder to shoulder, so he doesn't have to stare Peter's reaction directly in the face. “When I take them, they make me sick and sometimes I feel like I can’t think straight and I hate that because I like to be in control of my own mind and sometimes I just feel like I’m _ not,_ like the pills are controlling me and I’m just along for the ride or something stupid like that. I dunno."

He pauses, contemplates what he’s about to say next. “They, uh, they make me sleepy as well. You know that. It’s just, I don’t want to sleep, Pete. I don’t, because whenever I sleep I see _ you _ and you’re fading away, and then it’s Pepper or Morgan or _ all of you _ and I’m losing everything, all of this…” he sucks in a deep breath and gestures vaguely around him at their surroundings. The house, the lake, the tyre swing, Gerald’s shed, the obnoxious pink kayak Rhodey bought for Morgan. “When I don’t take the pills, it’s easier to manage. I don’t sleep as deeply. I don’t have to see, uh, see any of _ that_.”

Peter frowns down at his hands. He didn’t know. It shouldn’t be surprising, because Tony is used to trying to hide his weaknesses out of habit. Peter wishes he wouldn’t do that. “You’ve never told me that.”

Tony hums. “I guess I haven’t. It’s not your responsibility to worry about my stupid issues, kid.”

“It's not stupid. And I _ do _ worry.”

“Trust me, I know. More than you should. You have nothing to worry about, I know what I’m doing.”

“I won’t worry if you promise me you’ll take the medicine,” Peter states blankly, catching Tony off guard slightly. 

He hesitates. Peter hates it. “Kid…” 

“Get Bruce to redevelop it so it’s non-drowsy, get him to give you something new, I _ don’t _ care as long as you’re taking it.” 

“Maybe, I’ll see-”

“I need you alive, Tony,” Peter cuts in, catching Tony off guard a little bit. He turns his head so he’s facing Peter. The distress on his face is clear in the silvery moonlight and Tony hates it. He’ll do anything to wipe it off his face and make sure it never returns. 

“I am alive.” He extends a hand tentatively to pick up one of Peter’s, tugging it back towards his chest and placing the palm over his heart. His heartbeat thuds through his shirt, and vibrates gently through Peter’s palm. “Feel that? Very much alive, and I plan to stick around to piss you off like this for a very long time.” He curls his lips into a fond smile, but Peter just shakes his head, not willing to fall for any of the affection and charm. 

“The pills are helping keep you alive. You’re not going to lose me, Tony, I’ll always be here when you wake up, I promise. I just - I worry that one day I’ll wake up and _ y-you _won’t be here.” Peter’s voice cracks.

Tony reaches out to pull him properly into his side, needing his kid as close as he can get him. 

“I’m sorry, I - yeah, I know I’m being selfish. I’ll call Bruce in the morning and have a chat, how about that? See if he can get me on something else that won’t mess with me as much,” Tony contemplates. He’s gone into damage control mode, willing to say and do anything to ease as much of Peter’s distress as possible. 

“Okay,” Peter agrees, settling at the compromise. He tucks himself closer to Tony.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, buddy, I’m sorry,” Tony murmurs after a minute. Peter nods shakily. He knows. Tony would never intentionally do anything to hurt him.

“I know. I just - I can’t do this without you, and _that_ scares me,” Peter admits suddenly, eyes rising to meet Tony’s. Even in the surrounding darkness, Tony can see the way they plead. Pleading for him to understand. Pleading for him to stay.

“You’ve got me, I promise. You’ve always got me.” 

Tony wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders, Peter’s head tipping back to rest against his collarbone. It’s a movement that might have once felt stiff many years ago, but is now fluid, broken in with practised ease.

Peter can feel the rise and fall of Tony’s chest from his position. _ Alive_. 

He calms.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "medicine" - artist vs poet
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](https://searchingforstarss.tumblr.com/)!


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